


Time's not the issue, darling

by potatoeatingintensifies



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: ...this show is kind of a mess isnt it, Aditionally:, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, As in their return to 2019 doesn't drop them with the Sparrow Academy, Gen, Genderfluid Character, Multi, No Incest, Nonbinary Character, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, and while a ratings change will happen, bc lets be real that luther/allison stuff made everyone uncomfortable, it just neatly deposits them in their old world minus the apocalypse, its only when five gets an adult body to match his inner age, plus lila moves in, we're keeping lila/diego because lila's neither an adopted nor biological sibling of the seven, well. any other warnings will be in the chapter notes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-23
Updated: 2020-08-23
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:27:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26064220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/potatoeatingintensifies/pseuds/potatoeatingintensifies
Summary: The Umbrella Academy find yet another one of the '89 miracle babies at the Temps Commission - an agent with shapeshifting abilities who is unpredictable, dangerous... and really seems to like lizards, for some reason. The crash-and-burn of the old Commission leaves them without purpose or a place to stay, so they move in with the Hargreeves. Because eight clueless, traumatized, stressed-but-well-dressed ex-superheroes is better than seven......right?
Relationships: Diego Hargreeves/Lila Pitts, Number Five & Original Character, Number Five | The Boy & Original Character(s), Number Five/Original Character, Original Character & Everyone
Kudos: 23





	Time's not the issue, darling

**Author's Note:**

> I love feedback - comments, fanart, whatever, I thrive off it. Hmu on my tumblr (@young-and-cryptid) for any questions!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for: imprisonment, blackmail, knockout drops, non-consensual surgery, mentions of canon-typical violence (including murder), a suggestion of transphobia if you squint. 
> 
> We're starting this fun and light lol :,D

Serp's cell is not soundproof.

It doesn't have to be, really; it's so deep in the Handler's wing that nobody could hear them shouting anyway - and even if they did, nobody sticks their nose in the Handler's business. Any passerby would either assume that Serp's imprisonment is justified, or hope that they aren't next, and continue their day with little to no guilt.

Personally, though, Serp's always assumed that the lack of soundproofing is because the Handler likes them to know when she's coming. The sound of her footsteps is unmistakable, the telltale click-clack of high-heels, so surefooted and powerful you'd expect the ground to split before her.

It's dramatic. It builds anticipation. It's just like her.

It's also the only approaching sound Serp gets to hear in this room, apart from the whirring of the kitchen bot who brings them food at 06:00, 12:00, and 18:00 hours sharp every day - that is, usually. It's 9:47 am right now, according to their wristwatch, and several pairs of footsteps, accompanied by loud voices, are slowly heading towards them.

"What the fuck is this place?" A deep, gruff voice; very confused, but trying for the tough act.

"Ah, well - officially it's known as the artifact restoration and protection wing." A nervous, reedy baritone - _Herb_ , Serp knows. He's a very memorable person, is Herb; it's difficult to be so distinctly boring. Serp can respect that. "But since barely anyone had clearance and she was the only one to bring in any artifacts anyway, we called it-"

"- the Handler's wing," a smoky, confident voice finishes. Serp makes a face. _Lila_ . Now _that_ does not bode well for them. "I've been down here a couple of times. Some of the shit she has here is pretty powerful, so don't touch anything."

"It's impressive, I'll grant you that." A new voice - young, teenage maybe, but the tone is sharp as a knife and sounds too old and jaded for the high vocal cords. "But these things should be in the research wing, not mouldering away in this dusty ballroom. Plus, the commission really needs the space. We'll do a quick sweep, mark the really dangerous stuff for specialized extraction, and get a few robots to carry the rest."

Murmurs of assent. Serp ponders the fact that the kid seems to be the leader of the weird troupe wandering around outside their cell. They also consider calling out, but that seems too dramatic, too needy. The newcomers will find Serp eventually, they know, and if there's one thing they're good at, it's patience.

In any case, it gives them time to collect themself in the face of the rapidly approaching change, because, well. If they're here, that means the Handler is dead. And if the Handler is dead…

Either things are about to get a whole lot better - or a whole lot worse.

About five minutes later, kid voice says, "Huh. Weird," right outside their door.

"What?" Herb asks, and Serp hears the entire group gathering around.

"There's several doors leading off from this main room, but this one's the only one with a key in the lock."

"Well, that's bound to be interesting," gruff voice replies, and Serp hears the telltale click of bolts as the key turns.

"Are you stupid? _Don't-_ "

Kid voice is too late; gruff voice has already flung the door open. The owner of said voice does seem prepared for danger, in their defense; they’re dressed in protective gear, and have knives _everywhere_ , including in their hands, raised and ready. They need a haircut and a shave, though.

"What the fuck."

Serp continues sitting on the bed, ankles crossed leisurely. No point in getting up, sudden movements would probably just alarm the person anyway. "I could say the same, really."

"Somebody lives here?", Lila asks, disbelievingly. Her hair is shorter than Serp remembers, but it _has_ been a while.

"Somebody's being _kept_ here," kid voice says, stepping into the room - a teenager who carries themself like someone three times their age, and with a stressed, almost hunted look in their eye that makes them seem slightly unhinged. "I know a prison cell when I see one."

"Oh dear," Herb says. He looks about ready to faint, but that's nothing new. "This goes against all kinds of protocols - I - how did she even get all this installed without somebody knowing? She'd need a carpenter for the bed and the bookshelf, an electrician for light and TV, a plumber for the toilet and shower, and all those people need to document their work so they can get paid - surely someone must've noticed…?"

"Not if she killed them before they could apply for their paychecks," Serp says easily. Tough voice winces, Herb braces himself against the wall in horror, and even Lila looks distinctly uncomfortable. Serp wonders if their own nonchalance is a good or a bad thing. 

"Seriously?", tough voice finally manages weakly, and Serp shrugs. "You know she doesn't like loose ends-"

"Shut up."

Serp blinks at the kid, who's suddenly standing a bit too close for comfort, and looking distinctly annoyed as they stare Serp in the eye. "I'm sorry?"

"Shush. I need absolute silence." Serp has no idea what the kid's trying to do in the quiet that follows, but neither does anyone else - until the kid’s gaze snaps to their chest, and the kid says, very carefully, "What are you planning to do with that bomb."

Tough voice looks appalled. "He has a bomb?!"

"Their chest is ticking," the kid explains tersely, but Lila just scoffs. "No offense, old man, but I think you're being a bit paranoid. Ever heard of a pacemaker?"

The kid scowls, but doesn't take his eyes off Serp - instead, his hand wanders to his hip, where Serp is surprised to see a gun resting in a holster. "Sounds different. Less snappy clicking, more soft."

Serp tilts his head in respect. "You have good ears, ah…?"

"Five. Just Five."

The kid's got the gun pointed at them now, but Serp is too baffled to consider themselves in danger. So baffled, in fact, that they become careless. "You…? You were definitely older the last time we worked together."

Five's eyes narrow, suspicious and confused. "You worked with...? Impossible. I don't know you."

"He never forgets a face," Herb chips in admiringly. "What a legend."

Serp swallows. Too reckless, again, _dammit_ . That's what got them here in the first place - and now they can't lie their way out. Five's one of the best agents in the field, and even if this kid _isn't_ him, he definitely seems sharp enough to catch any lie before it's even left Serp's mouth. 

_Time for another game of "how much omission can I get away with",_ Serp thinks.

"Ah. Hm. You don't know this face, yes. But you should know this one."

They keep their body still so as to not alarm him - well, not any more than necessary. They _are_ changing their face, after all, a minor activation of their power that nevertheless has the entire group flabbergasted. Herb's the most dramatic, of course, sliding down the wall with a horrified little noise, but tough voice is a close second, swearing loudly and nearly tripping over Herb as they jump backwards. Lila keeps her position, but cannot help a sharp intake of breath at the change. 

Serp is not sure if Five has frozen up or is just that good at keeping his cool - they suspect the latter, but they're grateful either way, as they'd prefer not to get shot. "Oh, or her," they say and shift again, "I was her on the Jersey shore case." 

Five stares. They feel a drop of sweat traveling down their temple. "Or him?" Another shift. They remember they used to love having this jawline, but it seems a bit too aggressive now. "Paris in '72."

"Shit. He's one of us," tough voice says, grabbing Lilas hand for support. Serp frowns. "And you are…?"

"Diego. Diego Hargreeves."

Serp whistles. "Damn. Can't swing an umbrella around here without hitting one of the academy kids."

Lila laughs, but the joke is lost on the others, distracted as they are by the new information. "But yes, I'm one of the '89 bunch."

"And the bomb?" Five presses. Now _that_ Serp remembers - never one to be distracted for long, was Five. Too single-minded. "See for yourself."

Slowly, they move their hand across their torso to pull up their shirt - only when Herb chokes do they remember that most people are a bit weird about seeing breasts. "Ah, sorry," they say, and their torso _shifts_ as well, breasts melting into nothingness until their chest is flat and smooth, devoid even of nipples. 

Diego can't tear his eyes away, they note with amusement, but Five barely seems to notice, too focused on the soft red dot glowing from just underneath their skin; slightly off-center and illuminating an angular shadow below it.

"Explain."

 _Wanna try being even more vague?,_ Serp wants to joke - but doesn't. Five doesn't look like he'd appreciate their sense of humor, and anyway, this makes it easier to just tell the parts they want to share. "I… was recruited to the Commission when I was about Diego's age here. I accidentally got in the way of some agent’s business, but apparently my powers made me interesting enough to not be killed off immediately. The handler actually showed up personally to offer me a choice - either work for the Commission for five years, or be killed for causing trouble and knowing too much. Obviously I wasn't a fan of the latter option, but I wasn't happy about the first, even though I turned out to be very good at it. The handler asked me several times to consider extending my contract, but I always declined, and as she eventually stopped asking, I thought she'd given up."

Five winces, and they sigh. "Yeah, I know. Hindsight and all that. It was naive to think she just wanted to get drinks to celebrate my retirement. When the drugs finally wore off I woke up in here, chest sewn shut around Mr. Glowy, and her in the doorway with a remote detonator clutched in her talons. The bomb is rigged to explode if A) she pushes the button or B) the bomb receives no more signals from my nerve endings - so, attempting to take the bomb out would activate it, as would my own death. She keeps me in here when I'm not sent on her missions - or kept me, I should say. She _is_ dead, right?"

"As a doorknob," Herb confirms, pale as a ghost.

Serp smiles humorlessly. They should probably feel some sort of satisfaction, or relief, but they just feel tired. They’ve never gotten any sense of justice even from the deaths of cruel people, only a vague sadness that is easy to ignore. "Cool. Let me know when you find the remote. I'm a bit bored of constantly fearing death by explosion."

Five’s eyebrows nearly disappear into his hairline. “You’re - you’re just gonna wait here? _Why?_ ”

So they were planning on letting Serp go? _Interesting._.. They shrug, leaning back to regain some personal space. “I don’t have anywhere to be. I’ve been in a secret prison for five years, no one needs me right now. And I’ve got to figure out where I’m going to stay, since I’m not technically employed here anymore - as of now, I neither have rights to a living space or financial compensation from the Commission.”

Five stares at them, and they can practically see the gears turning behind his eyes. “Actually... you do now. Yes. I’m employing you for the next… ah, three hours, I think - you can help us look through the Handler’s old things; I’m sure you have some valuable information to share. And as for the living situation-”

“You could come live with us,” Diego blurts out, and Five shoots him a long-suffering glare. “I was about to suggest that, thank you, brother dearest.” He turns back to Serp and offers them a hand. “We have a lot of spare rooms since the death of our father, so you can stay as long as you like.”

Serp takes his hand and shakes it. It’s small in their grip, but not frail; Five has an almost too-strong grip, and his shake is almost jerky in his abruptness. “I _will_ need your name and pronouns, though,” he adds as he pulls his hand back.

Despite their usually excellent self-control there must be something on Serp’s face that shows their surprise, because Five cracks a smile - it’s an odd look on him, because it makes him look younger, while at the same time suggesting that it will make him very handsome in a few decades’ time. “I might be a killer, but I’m not a savage.”

Serp smiles in return and rises from the bed. “I go by Serp. I suppose they/them is the most accurate, but you can use any pronoun as long as it’s not as an insult.” 

Five nods curtly, and turns towards the door. “Great. Then follow me, Serp, because we have a lot of work to do.”


End file.
